


unholy what you know

by periphas (earthshaker)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Olympics, Past Hinata Shouyou/Oikawa Tooru, Past Iwaizumi Hajime/Ushijima Wakatoshi - Freeform, Past Relationship(s), Porn with Feelings, The impact of Iwaizumi Hajime (27) Athletic Trainer on my dick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:48:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27228352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earthshaker/pseuds/periphas
Summary: “Want to know my plans for the medal?”“Sticking it next to that picture you have of Kageyama and you?” Iwaizumi asks, moving closer to kiss along the ribbon of the medal.“I’m going to melt it down into a ring and propose to you with it,” Oikawa breathes out, one hand catching the back of Iwaizumi’s head and holding Iwaizumi against his chest.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 44
Kudos: 233





	unholy what you know

**Author's Note:**

> my girlfriend suggested the title argentinian olympian v japanese coach (in bed) and this is what it is in my heart, but i have a dying need to be pretentious first and foremost. um, well! this is the first time i've written for a non-rpf fandom since... 2012, maybe? but i was recently introduced to haikyuu and it's brought me so much joy and inspiration in times that are otherwise dull and exhausting, and i always will be, and always have been a true love fucker. this was a labour of love in the sense that i love iwaoi and in that i have to wake up in two hours for classes. i sincerely hope you enjoy <3\. a, as always, thank you for the little joys you bring me. edits: i seem to be getting a lot of questions abt ushijima and iwaizumi, to clarify this happens when iwaizumi is in california because i see iwaoi's relationship as undefined in high school/college and that they only _really_ get together a year before the Olympics.

Say surrender. Say alabaster. Switchblade.

Honeysuckle. Goldenrod. Say autumn.

Say autumn despite the green

in your eyes. Beauty despite

daylight. Say you’d kill for it. Unbreakable dawn

mounting in your throat.

My thrashing beneath you

like a sparrow stunned

with falling

 **_On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous_ ** _, Ocean Vuong_

As Oikawa composed a list of all the perks of the Olympics being held in Japan, he’d missed a very obvious one. Between a good 75% of team Japan being his rivals, friends, or rivals turned friends turned fuckbuddies (a category that exists solely for Shouyou), there wasn’t much to keep him in the Village. He’d found himself back in Iwaizumi’s apartment post-matches and for all his grumbling, Iwaizumi hadn't once kicked Oikawa out.

Oikawa Tooru is back in Iwaizumi Hajime’s apartment again. He doesn’t have to trudge back to the Village tomorrow to train with his teammates, because’s he’s _won._ By tomorrow, his Wikipedia page is going to say gold medal setter, and it’s sweeter than any dream. Better, because he can share it with Iwaizumi. 

Iwaizumi is still bathing, Oikawa settled in bed with only his boxers and the medal around his neck; he’s allowed to be obnoxious just this once. It doesn’t take long for Iwaizumi to step out of the bathroom and when he catches a glimpse of Oikawa, he smiles—and then he catches sight of Oikawa’s medal around his neck—and rolls his eyes so hard Oikawa’s surprised they’re still in his skull. 

“Enjoy the view?” Oikawa teases.

Iwaizumi grunts, stalking forward. “Maybe if I didn’t have to see your stupid face, yeah.”

“Don’t hold back on the compliments,” Oikawa says airily. “I’m sure the Greeks imagined this when they came up with the Olympics, medal on a body fit of a Greek god.”

“Just why am I in love with you?” Iwaizumi sighs out, half-exasperated, ghost of a laugh caught in his throat. “Also the medals are new, the original Olympics used laurels.” 

Oikawa thinks about it for a moment, Iwaizumi’s hair framed by laurels of victory. It’s just as nice an image as the reality of Iwaizumi crawling onto the bed, running a calloused palm along Oikawa’s side as Oikawa turns to face him. Iwaizumi’s hands are rougher than what Oikawa was used to in high school, but he’s had enough time to memorize the new texture of them with the way Iwaizumi’s hands linger on his skin behind closed doors. Sometimes in public too, questions hidden in the curl of Iwaizumi’s palm against the nape of Oikawa’s hair, an answer in a touch to the inside of Oikawa’s elbow, a language they’ve always spoken.

“Happy that you won?” Iwaizumi whispers. 

Oikawa closes his eyes, smiling, body arching into Iwaizumi’s wandering touch. Everyone on the Japanase national team knows Iwaizumi at his core, his gentle countenance, his dedication to taking care of them but Oikawa has always had that. Iwaizumi by his side when he first injured his knee, Iwaizumi gruffly maneuvering little bit more beef into Oikawa’s meal, Iwaizumi with the tiger balm for Oikawa’s knee after a particularly grueling match. Now Oikawa shares this with Olympians, with titans of legend, so what does that make him? The one who defeated them?

He would be lying if he said he isn’t happy he won; but he’s still hungry. He’s had his first taste of victory over titans and he wants _more_ , to be the _best_ , but he’s not greedy for it right now. Not like he usually is; Oikawa Tooru, for once in his life, is sated and has no desire to attain anything beyond this moment. 

“Want to know my plans for the medal?” 

“Sticking it next to that picture you have of Kageyama and you?” Iwaizumi asks, moving closer to kiss along the ribbon of the medal. 

“I’m going to melt it down into a ring and propose to you with it,” Oikawa breathes out, one hand catching the back of Iwaizumi’s head and holding Iwaizumi against his chest.

Iwaizumi exhales sharply, jerking back against Oikawa’s hand. When he meets Oikawa’s eyes, Oikawa finds wonder and exasperation in equal measure. He smirks—it feels like a service ace, slamming a declaration of love home—only for Iwaizumi to receive it, surging in to kiss Oikawa. It’s tender and desperate; Iwaizumi has always shown love in action. 

The swipe of tongue, the press of teeth, the grip Iwaizumi has on his waist, the way Iwaizumi licks into Oikawa’s mouth as if there’s treasure to be found behind his teeth. It’s messy with none of the finesse Oikawa _knows_ Iwaizumi has perfected, which is how he knows Iwaizumi is affected. 

Iwaizumi sighs against Oikawa’s mouth when he pulls away, thumb coming over to tug Oikawa’s lower lip open. It's the start of a thunderstorm in Oikawa, heavens pouring down, drenching him in _need_ from head to toe. 

“How do you want to reward a gold-medalist, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa’s voice is hoarse.

“By making him shut up,” Iwaizumi grunts out, pulling away from Oikawa to rifle in a gym bag laying by his wardrobe. 

His protests fall upon deaf ears, Iwaizumi straddling him after finding whatever it is he was looking for. Oikawa catches a glimpse of the bright blue straps and snorts. “Weightlifting straps? Really, Iwa-chan?”

There’s a hint of a smile at the corner of Iwaizumi’s lips, one he tamps out in order to give Oikawa a flat expression. It would work if it weren’t for the fact that Iwaizumi is painfully hard in his briefs—Oikawa can see it from where Iwaizumi’s straddled across his abdomen—and the fact that there’s nothing Oikawa is surer of than Iwaizumi.

An absolute certainty: the physics of a ball from fingertips to palm, the devotion carried over oceans, the knowledge that there will always be a love to come home to. 

“If you’d like,” Iwaizumi grunts out, gently looping the bands around Oikawa’s wrists and tying them to each other; Iwaizumi is nothing if not resourceful. “I have Ushiwaka’s resistance bands in the living room.”

“You know,” Oikawa says genially—as much as he can with Iwaizumi’s arms in his line of sight, anyway. “I know you’ve slept with Ushiwaka, but I’m way more of a catch than he is. _And_ I’m a gold medal Olympian, what does he have that I don’t? An ass?”

Iwaizumi can’t stifle his laugh this time, huffing against Oikawa’s throat, hot and familiar. “Shut up, idiot. I’m trying to fuck you. And I’ve never complained about your ass.” 

“Ushiwaka does have a nice ass though,” Oikawa relents. “It’s a shame you weren't tapping it.”

The Japanese professional volleyball world had lost their minds when Ushijima’s cowboy-themed photoshoot with Men’s Health was released in February; a stylist had wrangled him into daisy dukes that did _not_ hide how great Ushijima’s ass is. There are rumors that Sakusa Kiyoomi has a framed version of it somewhere in his home; Iwaizumi will neither confirm nor deny. Iwaizumi hums, leaning back. He’s trying for a bland expression, but Iwaizumi wears his heart on his sleeve and Oikawa has had years to learn this language, translate it, keep it close to heart. 

“Oh my god, you fucked Ushiwaka?” 

Iwaizumi shrugs, not bothering to deny it as he kisses down the plane of Oikawa’s body, holding Oikawa against the mattress easily. Oikawa doesn't care, is the thing. Hinata had asked him once if he felt insecure leaving when there were no clear lines the facts remain as such: it doesn't matter _how_ Iwaizumi loves Oikawa. It only matters that Iwaizumi _loves_ him. Oikawa has never doubted that love when their emotions were bigger than their bodies in high school and certainly doesn't doubt it now that they've fully grown into it. 

“What can I say,” Iwaizumi props his chin on Oikawa’s thigh, so close to where Oikawa wants him. “Everybody wants a piece of me.”

Oikawa cackles, loud and ugly, cut off abruptly with a whine when Iwaizumi glares at him through narrowed eyes and wraps his lips around Oikawa’s cock. Iwaizumi bobs his head shallowly along Oikawa’s length, teasing him. The _problem_ is that Oikawa hasn’t had Iwaizumi’s _anything_ since last year; Iwaizumi had a strict no-touch policy from the time Oikawa landed for the Olympics. They made out a lot and Oikawa got himself off against Iwaizumi’s strong thighs and that’s been it. 

Until now.

Iwaizumi is methodical and _delighted_ that Oikawa can’t tug on his hair like usual, bobbing his head along Oikawa’s cock like they have all the time in the world. And maybe they do; maybe this moment right here is their amber trap. A sated Oikawa, an indulgent Iwaizumi.

Oikawa moans, hands grasping at each other and wishing they were fisted in Iwaizumi’s hair as he kisses the head of Oikawa’s cock, runs a thumb along the underside. Iwaizumi takes Oikawa into his mouth again, all the way to the base this time and Oikawa squeezes his eyes shut, gasping despite himself.

“I guess,” Oikawa pants out. “All the telling off is worth it if this is what your mouth does.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes; the nerve of him, doing it while Oikawa’s dick is in his mouth. It shouldn’t make Oikawa feel so _hungry_ —a tempest of desire building and building—but this is their love, sharp edges sanded down to fit between them. Iwaizumi pulls off again to sink his teeth into the inside of Oikawa’s thigh, the pain sending a jolt fizzling through Oikawa and he moans, caving.

“ _Hajime_ ,” Oikawa cries. “Please, baby.”

“That was too easy,” Iwaizumi chuckles, kissing over the spot he bit into.

“Shut up and just fuck me, you’re so mean to me.”

Iwaizumi makes a vague noise of assent, gets his fingers slick with lube, hooks Oikawa’s right knee over his shoulder and presses a kiss to it. Oikawa whines and Iwaizumi’s eyes flutter shut, smiling against Oikawa’s knee. He keeps Oikawa waiting like that, eyes roving over Oikawa like he’s trying to take in his fill, sear the picture he sees onto his retinas. 

Oikawa wonders what he looks like from Iwaizumi’s point of view sometimes. Does Iwaizumi like Oikawa in his entirety? The parts of Oikawa that are perpetually restless, perpetually moving onto the next big goal, the next titan to take down? The crippling self-doubt too, does Iwaizumi see them and make the conscious decision to love Oikawa anyway? Because Oikawa does. He looks at Iwaizumi and sees the good and the ugly. 

Most importantly, Oikawa looks at Iwaizumi Hajime and sees a future, stretching out like the brilliance of the Atlantic ocean from the beaches of Miramar. 

“Hold on,” Iwaizumi mumbles against his skin, then carefully, _easily,_ manhandles Oikawa onto his knees, a warm palm pressing down between Oikawa’s shoulder blades as Iwaizumi leans over him to kiss the nape of Oikawa’s neck.

Oikawa grumbles a little at the change of position but something in him gets pulled tight, desire coating his tongue like ozone, strung out, the crackle in the air before lightning strikes. Half of him wants to be a brat and see what Iwaizumi does. The other half wants to stay like this and see what Iwaizumi does. 

What Iwaizumi does as Oikawa breathes harshly is this: he lays kisses on Oikawa’s thighs. Iwaizumi’s hands are calloused and strong on Oikawa’s ass, holding him open, Oikawa whining and rutting forward against the sheets at being exposed. A puff of hot air and Iwaizumi is dragging his tongue across Oikawa’s rim, Oikawa’s whine pitching louder. Iwaizumi falls into the movement easily, dragging his tongue over Oikawa’s rim, occasionally stiffening it to tease at his entrance and Oikawa can’t rut forward when Iwaizumi tightens his hold on him.

Distantly: what would it be like to work out with Iwaizumi? Oikawa is willing to take a public indecency charge for it. 

So he complains. “Get a fucking move on, _please_ , you’re so horrible to me.”

Iwaizumi pulls away, snorting. “You call everyone who eats your ass horrible?”

“Only you, Shouyou would never do this to me,” Oikawa shoots back. 

Iwaizumi’s laugh is a short bark, palming Oikawa’s ass. His fingers are slick with lube when Iwaizumi teases Oikawa with a finger, Oikawa biting down on a pillow. He’s been denied for so long it feels overwhelming, even as Iwaizumi sweet talks him into relaxing, one of the few times Iwaizumi says anything nice unprompted. Oikawa whines, high and airy when Iwaizumi slides the first finger in, catching Iwaizumi’s whispered _fuck_ , dipping his spine even lower.

An offering, of sorts. 

Oikawa can never shut up—this much is true regardless of the circumstances he’s in—and he doesn’t shut up as Iwaizumi fingers him open with too much lube, deliberately slow and deliberately angled to avoid his prostate. Oikawa curses, Oikawa praises, Oikawa takes Iwaizumi adding a second finger with a broken gasp of his name and a _fuck you, Iwa-chan._

Iwaizumi adds another finger and _more_ lube and Oikawa doesn’t have it in himself to be ashamed of the noise it's making, the noise _they_ are making. He’s only thinking of the time he got fucked in a skirt with too much lube in a similar position, with Iwaizumi’s mouth against his shoulder. And grateful that they’re doing this in Iwaizumi’s lovely apartment and not the Village, where their neighbour could pound on the wall demanding Oikawa shut the fuck up _or_ think of it as a competition of who can fuck louder. Iwaizumi finally skates his fingers over Oikawa’s prostate and huffs when Oikawa whines, keeps his fingers there and massages the spot relentlessly, Oikawa rutting frantically against the sheets, suddenly _desperate_ to get fucked.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa pants. “Hajime, please, I need your cock _so_ bad, or I will go ballistic. ”

Iwaizumi pulls his fingers out and flips Oikawa over again, wraps his lube slick hand around Oikawa’s cock and pumps it once, twice, Oikawa’s hips jerking up into his fist. He laughs, a low sound that makes Oikawa’s toes curl. 

“Untie my hands,” Oikawa demands, pouting. “I want to touch you.” 

Pouting is usually useless on Iwaizumi, but he undoes the makeshift restraints and tosses them to some corner of the room, Oikawa immediately getting his hands on Iwaizumi. He drags them over the hard muscle of Iwaizumi’s biceps, up to his deltoids, feels the subtle flex of them as Iwaizumi hefts Oikawa’s legs up and around his waist. 

Iwaizumi inhales, then thrusts into Oikawa, visibly pleased at the noise that gets punched out of Oikawa’s throat. He barely gives Oikawa time to adjust before leaning in, close to folding Oikawa in half, and Oikawa is sharply reminded of how thick Iwaizumi’s cock is. 

“ _Fuck_ , Iwa-chan,” Oikawa moans.

“That’s what we’re doing,” Iwaizumi snarks back, and before Oikawa can get another word in, Iwaizumi pulls out and thrusts back slowly into Oikawa. 

Iwaizumi grinds his hips into Oikawa, sawing into him at a pace that Iwaizumi _knows_ is too slow for Oikawa and keeps at it anyway. Oikawa turns his head to mouth at Iwaizumi’s forearm, the distinct taste of sweat and Iwaizumi, an unexpected constant. Iwaizumi easily props his weight on one hand to tug on Oikawa’s lower lip with his thumb, Oikawa taking it into his mouth—this is his divine sacrament—Iwaizumi in his mouth, Iwaizumi on his mind.

Even like this, Iwaizumi fucks Oikawa steadily, Oikawa moaning around Iwaizumi’s thumb openly. Oikawa doesn’t have the leverage to fuck back against Iwaizumi and is forced to take it, precome a pool on his abs, orgasm building, a storm on the cusp. It’s the wet noise of their fucking, the intense look of concentration on Iwaizumi’s face, the way Iwaizumi’s eyes _shine_ with fondness.

“Hajime,” Oikawa breathes out. “Please, baby, it’s been so long.” 

Iwaizumi’s eyes are trained on where Oikawa’s rim is stretched around his cock, and he unconsciously speeds up, fucks into Oikawa so hard on the next thrust he’s jolted up the bed with a surprised gasp. Oikawa spots the moment Iwaizumi’s resolve hardens and mentally braces himself for it; Iwaizumi’s subsequent thrusts are painfully targeted to drag against Oikawa’s prostate, pulls out all the way until it’s just the tip holding Oikawa open, Oikawa whining pitifully.

Oikawa wants to _come_ , goddamnit. 

“If you make me come right now I won’t leave your bed until my flight to Argentina,” Oikawa gasps out. 

It kicks Iwaizumi into the next level, giving up technique for speed, fucking sharply into Oikawa, adding another finger to Oikawa’s mouth and tugging it open. Oikawa shudders at the way drool tracking down the side of his chin makes him feel—filthy, exposed—only for Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi pulls his fingers out, snorting when Oikawa whines and wraps his wet fingers around Oikawa’s dick, Oikawa grasping at the sheets as Iwaizumi jacks him off.

Oikawa comes embarrassingly fast. Five strokes of Iwaizumi’s fist, three well-aimed thrusts and he’s gone: lightning scouring through his body, remaking every cell into something new. He feels alive with it, thrumming, body singing with love for Iwaizumi, who still hasn’t come, who is still patiently jacking Oikawa through his orgasm even as he shudders.

“I love you,” Oikawa murmurs. “I love you,” he repeats, meeting Iwaizumi’s eyes and digging his heels into Iwaizumi’s back, needing Iwaizumi to believe it.

Iwaizumi pants against Oikawa’s mouth, thrusts once, twice, three times, Oikawa whining out another _I love you_ and Iwaizumi stiffens, coming. He keeps fucking Oikawa through his orgasm and the overstimulation is going to be too much in two minutes but it’s okay because _Iwaizumi came when Oikawa said I love you._

“Oh my god,” Oikawa laughs out, Iwaizumi’s face buried in the crook of Oikawa’s shoulder. “You came when I said I love you.”

He can’t quite keep the glee out of his voice, Iwaizumi’s head jerking up to meet his eyes with a glare. 

“Iwa-chan loves me,” Oikawa singsongs. Iwaizumi’s face softens as he pulls out, leaning in to pepper kisses over Oikawa’s face.

“Shut up, asshole.” It lacks heat. In its place: two going on three decades of love. An absolute certainty. A devotion carried over oceans. A knowledge of love to come home to.

“Maybe I do,” Iwaizumi relents. 

Ahead of them: a future, brilliant and blue, opportunities vast and endless. Ahead of them: a knowledge that every promise made will be kept. Ahead of them: the road to love. 

Oikawa Tooru is sated. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> i’d really appreciate a comment if u enjoyed this! i’m wracked with the nerves of writing for a new fandom and it would make me feel better 💛


End file.
